


not yours, never was

by thedrugdealingshark



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Friends With Benefits, Jealousy, M/M, Pining, Unrequited Love, who are also enemies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-29 01:43:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3877588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedrugdealingshark/pseuds/thedrugdealingshark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Daniel probably hates Punk, he’d be stupid not to, but the feeling isn’t mutual. Not even close. If he’s being honest, Punk might go as far to say he trusts Daniel, which is incredibly foolish on his part.”</p>
<p>Or a collection of snippets involving Punk and Daniel's lives and how they eventually intertwine.</p>
<p>*set before and after the events of Over the Limit 2012</p>
            </blockquote>





	not yours, never was

**Author's Note:**

> idk what this is or why there's 3k of it. is this a thing ppl ship??? idk???

While it was easy for Punk to hate anybody on the WWE roster, Daniel Bryan had never been one of them.

When you’re the guy with the title that everyone’s striving for, it’s easy to hate anybody that’s competing for your title, which is _everybody_. The thing about becoming champion is that you lose any friends you thought you might’ve had once before, and in Punk’s case, that includes Daniel Bryan. 

Although Punk might not necessarily _like_ Daniel at this point, he doesn’t hate him, and he can’t figure out why. 

All the qualities that follow up a person that is suitable of Punk’s hatred is there in Daniel: the cockiness, the annoying sense of undeserving worth, and last but not least, the fact that he’s a potential threat. 

Daniel probably hates Punk, he’d be stupid not to, but the feeling isn’t mutual. Not even close. If he’s being honest, Punk might go as far to say he _trusts_ Daniel, which is incredibly foolish on his part. 

The one rule about surviving this type of business is to trust no one, especially the guy that’s in pursuit over your championship. 

Which, he deserves it, Punk’ll admit to that - the kid’s great in the ring and a great competitor - but, Punk wouldn’t go as far to say Daniel deserves the championship more than he does. There’s not a doubt in Punk’s mind that Daniel will eventually become champion, but for right now, the championship belongs to Punk, and Daniel has to get in line. 

And ever since Daniel won his title shot at Over the Limit, he’s been nudged to the front of the line. 

So, there is the possibility that, after Sunday, Daniel could be holding the title. But, there’s also the chance that he won’t be. 

It’s a 50/50 shot. 

And, honestly, Punk probably wouldn’t regret either outcome. 

\- - - - - 

When Punk finds Daniel backstage a week before Sunday, he almost has to stop himself from wishing him luck. 

Daniel’s alone when Punk comes across him, gaze ridden to the floor. Punk considers turning around, but his feet still carry him in Daniel’s direction. Daniel glances up when he senses Punk’s presence, registers that it is, in fact, _Punk_ who’s approaching him, and his expression switches to less than pleased. 

“Hey,” Daniel says when Punk’s within a foot away from him, and there’s this skeptical edge to his voice like he’s just waiting to be set-up at any given moment. 

Punk stops in front of him, not completely sure why he’s even talking to Daniel in the first place. “Hey.” 

Daniel’s eyes drift down to the title that’s slung over Punk’s shoulder, and there’s this flash of envy that maybe Punk’s imagining, before returning to his face. 

“You ready for Sunday?” Punk finds himself asking - like’s he some supportive friend and not the very guy that Daniel has to be getting ready for. 

“Yeah,” Daniel says. Short. On edge. He even straightens himself up in an absentmindedly attempt to make himself appear more threatening. “are you?” 

Small talk. Punk’s standing here making small talk with a man he should despise. He might as well ask about the weather while he’s at it. 

“Yeah,” Punk repeats Daniel’s answer back to him, and the tension that’s settled between them ever since Punk opened his mouth has grown unbearable, so he says what he meant to in the first place. “and, uh - good luck, by the way.” 

Daniel’s eyes narrow like that’s the strangest thing to ever come out of Punk’s mouth - which it’s probably not - but it’s not stepping over the line to call it unusual. People don’t just go and wish their enemies luck on defeating them - especially the people around here - without turning it around mockingly in the very least. 

Which, Punk’s not mocking Daniel at all - it’s the farthest intention from his mind - he’s just being supportive towards an old friend that was inconveniently pitted against him. 

Punk likes to think that’s the reason why Daniel has been more or less avoiding him ever since he won his title shot - because he doesn’t want to fight Punk until he has to. But, even then, Punk knows that’s shooting a bit far. 

Daniel doesn’t like him, and he sure as hell doesn’t trust him, and Punk’ll just have to deal with that. 

“Thanks,” Daniel says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. 

And when he doesn’t say anything else, Punk takes it as his cue to leave. 

He picks himself off of the wall he’s been leaning against, sparing Daniel one last friendly little nod before he’s beating his face in next week over a peice of leather. It’s when Punk starts to pass him by that Daniel reaches out, swift and distracted, and grabs Punk by his arm. 

“Hey,” Daniel’s voice is quieter now, dropping down to a barely intelligible whisper, and Punk takes a step back. “er - why’re you doing this?” 

Punk knows what he’s talking about, he knows exactly what he’s talking about, it’s the same question he’s been asking himself since he even stopped to talk with Daniel. “What d’you mean?” 

“ _This,_ ” Daniel gestures between the two of them, his voice still low, but animated. “I mean - it’s weird; wishing me luck and - just - why’re you doing this?” 

Punk honestly doesn’t have an answer for Daniel. “I dunno,” he shrugs. “you’re a nice guy - one of the relatively few that doesn’t piss me off on a daily basis.” It’s not much of an answer as it is a weak attempt at flattery, but it’s all Punk’s got. 

Daniel’s expression softens, and he’s looking less suspicious about Punk’s very presence and it helps ease the tension. 

“Oh,” He accepts the response, letting it process before speaking again, and the corners of his mouth twitch up into the closest thing to a smile that Punk’s seen on Daniel all night. “you sure you’re not just getting in one last chance to flaunt your title at me?” 

Daniel’s gaze returns to the belt slung over Punk’s shoulder, and Punk follows before glancing back up and purposely adjusting it. 

“Yeah,” Punk says wryly. “you got me.” 

And this may just be Punk imagining things again, but Daniel’s actually laughing - maybe for the briefest of moments, he’s forgotten who he’s talking to. 

“I’m gonna win,” Daniel says through smiling teeth. “just so you know.” And he’s not saying it to induce intimidation, and Punk knows this. They’ve faded back into being old friends bantering over nothing instead of the cold, indifferent co-workers that this whole setup has turned them into. 

It’s nice. 

Being friends with Daniel is nice. 

\- - - - - 

Daniel didn’t win the title, but he probably should have. He made Punk tap out, but Punk managed to pin him and get the win. 

Punk retained his title that should probably belong to Daniel. 

Daniel’s pissed, undoubtedly. Understandably. And any progress they’d managed to make last week has shriveled up and died away. 

And for reasons unbeknownst to him, Punk finds himself looking to make things right with Daniel after their match. 

Because he owes it to Daniel. 

Because in some weird sense, Punk likes Daniel. 

He’s grown questionably fond of him over the short course of the week, and it’s unsettling to Punk to think that Daniel absolutely hates him - which, at this point - there’s no doubting that he does. 

But, like any competitor should know, things are different in the ring than they are on the outside. 

Apparently, Daniel isn’t aware of this, because he slaps Punk across the face the first time he sees him backstage. 

Daniel storms up to him, hands balled into fists at his side, and he just smacks Punk right across the face without even saying anything. 

The loud smack of Daniel’s opened palm hitting Punk’s cheek seems to echo against the walls, and anyone that’s within a earshot turns around to look. Punk’ll admit - he deserved that. 

“What the _hell_ was that?” Daniel’s furious, turning red at the very sight of Punk, and he’s breathing hard - either from the match or from the built-up rage he’s been holding in for the past few minutes. 

Punk just stands there, cheek burning, hand raised to rub over the pink imprint of Daniel’s hand within his skin, and he laughs. Choked little hiccups of laughter. 

Daniel’s seeing red by this point. 

One moment, they’re standing there - Punk laughing and Daniel watching him laugh - and the next, they’re on the ground - Punk’s on his back and Daniel’s on top of him, throwing punch after punch and he’s pretty sure Punk’s still laughing. 

If anyone’s still around, nobody’s making the effort to pry the two of them apart. Maybe they’re just waiting on the officials to find them like this - or maybe the camera crew. 

They roll and Punk’s on top, punching and hitting, and then they roll again and Daniel’s back on top and throwing punches. The process repeats itself - over and over until Punk thinks they’ll be hitting each other forever. 

They manage to stop when Daniel’s back on top again. He’s breathing hard - panting out every breath like it was his last - and he’s got Punk pinned down to the floor. Punk’s hands are held down above his head, Daniel’s fingers clutching into his wrists, and they’re just staring at each other - angry and exhausted. 

Punk could easily just head-butt the other man if he wanted to, but for right now, this position seems oddly interesting. 

“That title should be _mine_ ,” Daniel’s hissing, staring daggers into Punk. “I made you tap out, you tapped out - I saw it!” 

“But the ref didn’t,” Punk reminds him, all nonchalant and cool like he’s in a completely different situation. 

Daniel doesn’t say anything, still panting over Punk with his eyes narrowed and burning with hate. 

Daniel _hates_ Punk - but the feeling still isn’t mutual. Even from the floor of the backstage area, with what exposed skin Daniel’s been punching at sore and surely bruised - Punk still can’t hate Daniel. 

There’s just something about the stocky little asshole that Punk finds endearing, and it bugs him to no end. 

“I want a rematch,” Daniel’s saying. “I want a rematch at No Way Out for the championship.” 

Punk considers this, but he doesn’t expect any less. While Punk may find him endearing, Daniel’s still tediously predictable. “Maybe if you’d get off of me, I’d think about it.” 

Daniel doesn’t move. 

He looks so far inside his head that Punk thinks for a split second he might not have heard him. Spaced out. Or maybe he’s thinking that if he does get up, Punk’ll take advantage of Daniel being off his guard in an attempt to get him back on the ground again. 

Which - he probably would’ve done - if it was anybody else, but the way Punk sees it - he’s screwed Daniel over enough for one night. 

So, Punk’s just staring at him - waiting - until Daniel finally does get up and the added weight and warmth is gone. He even offers Punk his hand, which Punk takes, and helps him up. 

“I’ll see what I can do,” Punk says, and at look on Daniel’s face shines with a little more hope. “can’t promise anything, though.” 

It’s weird - Punk shouldn’t be trying to get another match defending his title against the guy who’s most likely to beat him - but he is. Because it’s Daniel, and because Punk’s grown fond of him to an alarming degree. 

“Thanks,” Daniel says like they weren’t rolling around on the floor, throwing punches at each other just moments ago. 

Punk claps Daniel on the back, sparing him the closest thing to a smile that he can manage, and they’re friends again. Or at least within that territory. 

Punk feels like he’s getting dangerously close to whole different territory. One he’d rather be in, but one that only digs him deeper into the hole he’s gotten himself into. 

\- - - - - 

It doesn’t take a lot of soul searching to discover Punk’s interested in Daniel. It’s pretty much been laid out there for him to see, getting more obvious and intelligible as the days go by. 

Punk wants to know Daniel; get past knowing him as a competitor and more as a person, because he's admirable and he's interesting, and Punk's interested in him. 

Only he doesn’t know what to do about it. 

And he’s pretty sure Daniel’s interested in Kane - and that thought alone leaves Punk miserable - and pissed. 

Daniel likes Kane. 

_Kane._

The mask-wearing, washed-up fire demon with a fixation for the color red. 

Of all people for Daniel to be interested in - it’s _Kane_. 

And now Kane’s involved in the picture - _their_ picture - the title feud that was meant for Punk and Daniel alone. Daniel’s also been thrown into some pathetic little anger management class with Kane and now he’s interested in him. 

Punk still has his championship, as well as his title reign. Daniel ended up getting his second chance at No Way Out, only this time, Kane was involved, and it turned into a triple threat. 

When he mentions Kane to Daniel, trying to bring it up as casually as he can, he’s in Daniel’s locker room because his feet more or less carried him there and he’s still not even sure why he’s there in the first place. 

So, while he’s here, he might as well get some answers. 

Daniel’s sitting in one of the steel chairs that seem to always be located conveniently around the arena and he still wears that disappointed glower around Punk when he’s got the title slung over his shoulder. He’s not really even in the title shot anymore, but still, he deserves it more than any of the pathetic little shits on current roster. 

If he had no pride or will-power, Punk would probably just hand the damn title right over to Daniel. But, you have to look out for yourself first, friends - no matter how close you hold them to be - come second. 

“So,” Punk’s leaning back against the closed door of Daniel’s locker room, hand clutching onto the championship. “what’s up with you and Kane?” 

Daniel visibly tenses and where he’d been staring at the floor before, his eyes are now studying Punk’s face. Just trying to see if he knows any more than he’s letting on - which Punk doesn’t, he’s only got his superstitions to back him up that there’s even anything going on between Kane and Daniel, but Daniel doesn’t know that. 

“Nothing,” Daniel answers, a bit too quickly, and he’s squinting at Punk. “Why?” 

Punk shrugs, composed and unconcerned, like the mere thought of _something_ going on between Daniel and Kane doesn’t eat away at him. “You just seem,” Punk clears his throat, fixing his attention to the wall behind Daniel. “ _friendly_ now, that’s all.” 

“No,” Daniel drags the word out like he’s trying to believe it himself. He’s still staring a hole through Punk while Punk’s trying to look at everything in the room that isn’t Daniel. “why - are you jealous?” 

That’s enough to bring Punk’s attention back to Daniel, and for a second, he thinks he might not have heard him correctly, but the wry little smile that’s contorted on Daniel’s features gives it away completely. 

_Shit._

It takes longer for Punk to compose himself this time, and Daniel’s taking every bit of it in. 

Punk manages to grin at him, somewhere in between a scoff and a chuckle, and this whole situation is just making him incredibly uneasy. “Yeah, right,” 

\- - - - - 

It’s only been a week later when Daniel kisses Punk. 

It’s completely unpredicted and the two of them are out in the parking lot of another arena, Punk’s heaving his luggage out of the trunk of his rental and Daniel’s standing there with him - lost in a conversation about nothing - and Daniel kisses him. 

Maybe it was something Punk said or did unintentionally, but Daniel surges in against him. Punk’s hand is still clutching at the handle of his luggage, the other groping at the hood of the trunk to close it, but kisses Daniel just as eagerly as he’s kissing him. 

Daniel’s supporting himself against the car, one hand gripping at Punk’s upper arm and his mouth is all demanding but gentle and Punk doesn’t want to ever stop kissing him. 

It’s enough to make Punk’s head spin, enough to make him forget where he is and who he is, and he’s wanted this longer than he realized and maybe Daniel isn’t into Kane after all. 

And he’s glad that it’s Daniel who breaks away, because Punk thinks that even if he wanted to stop kissing Daniel, he probably couldn’t. Daniel’s hand is still on Punk’s arm, warm and comforting, and they’re both on the verge of laughter, giddy and light-headed. 

“What the _hell_ was that?” Punk breathes out, and he’s laughing, because whatever it was, he’s pretty sure he wants to relive it. 

Daniel’s laughing too - all teeth and smiles - and he shrugs. “It’s whatever you want it to be.” 

Punk’s not sure of what he wants anymore, but he knows that he wants _this_ \- to have Daniel all breathless and pink-mouthed because of him and not Kane - so he kisses him again and Daniel tastes like laughter. 

\- - - - - 

It’s when they’ve relocated to Punk’s hotel room and the two of them are lying next to each other in bed, exhausted and sweaty, that Punk realizes his fondness for Daniel is almost entirely useless. 

Like a fragile flower, waiting to be crushed by the lightest of treading. 

They don’t belong together, and Punk recognizes this too late, when he’s lost himself in Daniel but managed to find himself there too. 

They’re not soul mates, they’re not destined to be together, they’ve not been brought together by fate. They’re just two lonely souls whose paths managed to intertwine and will eventually separate in the near future. 

But the way Daniel’s snuggled into Punk’s side, already faded into sleep, it manages to give Punk some hope that there will still remain _something_ of this when the sun rises in the morning. 

And even if all signs that there was anything between the two of them has completely vanished by the time they wake up, Punk’s alright with that. 

He’s here if Daniel wants him. 

They’d just shared the missed feeling of being wanted, used each other to get that feeling back. And Punk likes that it was Daniel that he shared it with, and he still likes Daniel. 

It’s a far stretch to say he’s in love with Daniel, but he likes him. He likes him enough to roll the dice and let the chips fall where they may. 

Punk falls asleep with Daniel’s arm thrown over his torso and his breath ticking at Punk’s flesh, completely content and willing to let the relationship unravel itself when it does. 

And if it never does, then, well, Punk’s alright with that too.


End file.
